


In These Halls

by Lokiscribe



Series: To Go On Living [1]
Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Castration, Flashbacks, Gen, Humiliation, Hurt Loki, Loki Angst, Loki Feels, Loki's Hair, Loki's Punishments, Loki-centric, Non-Consensual Haircuts, Poor Loki, Post-Avengers (2012), Slave Loki, Slavery, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 08:19:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1975785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokiscribe/pseuds/Lokiscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As punishment for his crimes on Midgard, Loki has been forced into slavery on Asgard. Initially resistant to his fate, he is now completely broken down from months of constant torture and abuse, and he is willing to do anything to avoid pain. But though he has all but accepted that this is his life now, he can’t evade the rumors and chance encounters that threaten to remind him of what he used to have… </p><p>"... It did not matter whether he was superior to them, or whether the whole of Asgard had once acknowledged him as a prince. If he did not surrender to the wishes of these low-ranking brutes, he would never escape the torment. </p><p>So he must submit. He had no choice..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In These Halls

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic! I’ve read a ton of Slave!Loki/Hurt!Loki/Loki Whump stories, and finally I felt inspired to write my own! I’m warning you now: this is rather dark. Not for the faint of heart. There are some potentially very triggering elements. Seriously, read the tags, and take care of yourself. 
> 
> If you think you can handle it - great! Let me know what you think! 
> 
> I do plan for this work to be part of a series, but I can make no promises as to when other parts will be written and published. I’m also working on another Loki fic unrelated to this series, and I will probably return to that now that I’ve finished this story.
> 
> The only characters that are mine are the overseers and Enforcers. Otherwise I own nothing. Everything belongs to Marvel.

It was nearing the end of the day, and excitement was buzzing throughout the whole of Asgard. 

Animated whispers filled the halls of the palace, passing between individuals of all social standings, while a gay enthusiasm transferred into the air a gleeful aura, atypical for an hour at which the populace normally lacked energy after a long day of the work or diplomacy that befit their respective stations. 

Today was most certainly not a typical day. 

That very morning, King Odin, the great Allfather, had announced that he would be yielding the throne to his son Thor, the heir apparent. 

In kingdoms such as Midgard where lifespans completed practically the moment they began, the coming of a new ruler may not have awakened such activity in the people as did the news in Asgard that day. But in this golden realm, where the life of a mortal would equal the mere infancy of an Aesir, many centuries or even millennia would pass before a king would announce the transfer of his power to a successor, and so the announcement of a coronation always sent vivacity soaring through the city, traversing the boundaries of the palace to infect the commoners, too, with the excitement of gossip. 

In one particular corridor of the palace, not far from the wing containing the royal living quarters, that gossip was manifesting itself in various forms. At the end of the hall, three servant girls scurried about, giggles of delight escaping from faces glowing with the radiance of their happiness. Perhaps 50 meters away, coming from the direction of the meeting rooms located in adjoining corridors, a group of five noblemen made its way down the length of the hall, laughing boisterously and hypothesizing about the ladies with whom they would celebrate following the conclusion of the ceremonies. Just behind them walked a solitary squire, humming to himself softly with his mouth turned upward into a smile that was modest, yet reflected his indulgence in the felicity of the situation. 

In their preoccupation with the upcoming events, none of these passersby noticed a lone slave near the entrance of the hallway, crouching in the corner on all fours and scrubbing at the creases where the walls intersected with the flooring. He wore a weary look, but though he seemed to fear accusation of wrongdoing and subsequent punishment, he kept his tired eyes, which were a dull green but appeared as though they had once sparkled with livelihood, trained toward the floor. His knuckles were white from pressing the damp rag into the ground, and sweat glistened on the back of his neck, visible from beneath the roughly cropped black hair tapering off at his nape. He wore only a simple tunic, its plain folds draping loosely off his thin frame, and a pair of tattered leggings. His feet were bare, revealing smudges of the same dirt he was being made to clean from the marble floor. Aside from the weariness, his face was without expression, betraying no reaction to the rumors flying around him. 

Internally, though, he absorbed every word they said, taking in his surroundings without making any comment. 

Just as he was expected to do. 

Contrary to his apparent indifference, the news of the coronation burned him. The memories triggered by the announcement reminded him of times now long behind him, times when Thor might have told him of this news himself… for the slave who now sat upon the floor, making its appearance more acceptable to the nobility to walked upon it, had once been a prince himself. 

Once, he had been Loki, of Asgard. 

Of course now he had no claim to that title. He had no claim even to the name, in fact, for it had been taken from him when he was sentenced to a lifetime of slavery in retaliation for his crimes against Midgard. At the time he had been indignant, rebellious even. He had spat insults at the Allfather and at Thor as the guards had dragged him away to begin his training. He had been disgusted by the status he was to assume. But he could never have anticipated the hardships he would soon face. 

Status was the last thing that came to his mind anymore. He had accepted that he was nothing, that he was nameless and worthless, mere property in the eyes of the Aesir. 

The humiliation was secondary to the pain. 

The pain of hunger and of the sheer exhaustion brought on by endless days of constant labor. 

Of the whip that so often flayed the skin from the back. 

Of the fire that exploded in his ribs whenever one of the overseers lashed out with his booted foot in response to some trivial shortcoming. 

He would never have thought, when he first began his sentence, that he would soon find himself submissive and cowering under the threat of violence against him, but the reality was that it had not taken long at all to bring him to this point. 

There existed a little known collection of chambers beneath the palace where new slaves were broken in and disobedient ones were broken. Loki had entered this dungeon with his pride intact, snarling in rage as his guards had transferred him to the custody of those who would train him - Enforcers, as they were known. 

All Asgardian slaves gravely feared the Enforcers, for it was they who ensured that slaves acted appropriately. This meant enforcing rules. Enforcing submission. Enforcing silence. Enforcing complete and utter devotion to their masters. Some slaves were privately owned, of course. But even those who were not the collective property of the palace estate were trained here and could be brought to the discipline chambers to face “re-education” if necessary. 

Loki, like most slaves, was in servitude to all of Asgard, which meant serving the nobles and royals however the overseers ordered him to. It also meant he was destined to work under the overseers for the several thousand years that remained of his life. With the overseers, there was no chance of mercy, as there was with private citizens. Slaves of the Aesir knew that some masters showed kindness toward their slaves, abstaining from physical abuse or even feeding them enough to quell the pangs of hunger that posed a never-ending torment for the majority of their kind. The enslaved would whisper among themselves at night when they were locked in the cold, bare cells in which they slept, fantasizing that one day one of these beneficent figures might elect to purchase them. 

Loki never joined them. It had been named as a condition of his sentencing that he could not be privately owned. He had betrayed all of Asgard, and so he must serve all of Asgard for the rest of his days. 

He had no hope of leniency. He would be at the mercy of the overseers and the Enforcers until he died. 

And mercy was something they had none of. When Loki had first entered training, his first action had been to defy the Enforcer who ordered him to kneel. For this, he had received a vicious slap across the cheek, one that knocked him to the ground. Before he had time to spit verbal venom or even to really register the stinging of the welt on his face, several sets of boots had taken to pounding at his body, winding him and causing him to gasp for air. When the assault finally ended, he had involuntarily curled into a ball, willing the agony to leave him. 

But of course it hadn’t, and he had lain on the hard stone breathing heavily as the Enforcer warned him that any insolence, no matter what degree, would be severely punished. That of course had compelled a snarling insult to tumble out of him, and he had paid dearly in blood and bruising. When they tossed him into a cell that night, he felt as though he’d been obliterated by the Hulk ten times over. 

The pain was unbelievable, and he lay unmoving on the ground, trying to avoid causing himself further injury though unnecessary motion. It had hurt, yes, but at that time he had believed he could handle whatever they had to throw at him. He was superior to them in every way, and they would never break him. 

He smiled sadly to himself at this memory, wringing the dirty water from his cleaning rag as he did so. How wrong he had been. It had only taken another week packed with constant, unimaginable tortures to convince him to submit. There were the whippings that all but left him without skin. Simulated drownings that left his lungs feeling as though they would explode. A taste of the rack, which ripped his shoulders and legs from their sockets again and again, only to be popped back in place and the whole process repeated. 

Eventually he’d learned that even he had a limit to the amount of pain he could take. He had begged for a cessation of the beatings, and they dragged him out of the dungeons to a massive hall in which a duel had left the ground covered in blood and sweat. They had shoved him to his knees and ordered him to clean every speck of the stone flooring or face the consequences in bodily torment. 

With the anguish he’d felt then, there’d really been no option. Unable to walk, he’d pushed himself onto his hands and knees and begun crawling toward the brush and bucket of water that had been set out, mostly likely by another slave. He had apparently moved too slowly, for one of the Enforcers kicked him in the tailbone and sent spasms of pain shooting up his spine, down his limbs, and into his core. He’d screamed and briefly fallen to his elbows, but fearing another blow, he’d quickened his pace and reached the cleaning supplies without further incident. 

They’d continued to watch him the whole time though, and so as he scrubbed away the evidence of the fight, he worked in constant terror, anticipating that the Enforcers would find fault in his work and punish him for it. 

By some miracle, however, they had not found fault, and he’d finished the task, crawling back toward his observers to kneel before them once again. The tallest one, who seemed to possess the highest rank out of the Enforcers present, nodded in satisfaction. 

“Have you learned your place, slave?” he asked threateningly. “Or do you have more harsh words you would attempt to fling at us? I assure you we would love to give you further instruction if you still require it. 

Cowering, Loki tried to speak, his efforts producing only pathetic stutters. “I… I have l-learned,” he managed. But it was not enough. The tall Enforcer brutally kicked him in the chest, reducing the former prince’s breaths to labored wheezing. 

“How should you address us, slave?” the Enforcer barked. 

Chest heaving, Loki lowered his head, hoping the show of submission would appease his captor. “I have l-l-learned… m-master,” he stammered. 

It shamed him horribly to speak this way, and frankly he had wanted to tell the Enforcer that his name was Loki, not slave, but his desire to ease the pain flaming in his every molecule overpowered his wish to maintain a semblance of pride. 

He had a whole lifetime of this treatment ahead of him. If he did not obey, the unbearable misery he felt now would consume him… 

He had already lost his freedom, and he could not bear to lose his mind, as well. Which he would if they continued beating him at this rate, and at this intensity. 

It did not matter whether he was superior to them, or whether the whole of Asgard had once acknowledged him as a prince. If he did not surrender to the wishes of these low-ranking brutes, he would never escape the torment. 

So he must submit. He had no choice. 

Loki shuddered. 

It was frightening, having absolutely no free will. If it had seemed like everyone took advantage of him when he was younger… they certainly did now. As much as he had despised his childhood, living in Thor’s shadow, he would have prostrated himself on the ground and licked Odin’s boots if it meant he could have that life back. 

For this was no way that anyone could ever bear to live, no matter how hard they might try to endure.

Yet somehow he continued to survive, and having now finished the task at hand, he straightened up - as best as he could anyway, seeing as his stiff, broken body never truly stood erect these days - and picked up the pail, dropping the rag into the murky water. 

He had done quite a good job, if he did say so himself. Every crease and crevice of the hallway sparkled like a gem. Prior to his enslavement, he’d have laughed disdainfully at anyone who told him he would one day excel at shining floors and polishing walls, but now that he found himself bound and without agency, it was one of the few things at which he had any opportunity to excel. 

Not that any freemen noticed, of course. It was expected that the palace would be clean, and if it were not, there would be Hel to pay, but no slave ever received congratulations on a job well done. 

No one congratulated property, after all. 

He began to walk down the hall, away from the royal quarters and towards the meeting rooms from which the five noblemen had departed a short time earlier. He had to return his supplies and get himself to the kitchen, where he would scrub dishes for five hours, spanning the lengthy period of time in which the palace inhabitants took their evening meals. When that obligation was done with, he would clean the tables and floors of the dining halls, washing away the stains of spilled wine and disposing of food scraps fumbled from the plates of drunken warriors. Then, only then, would he be permitted to eat a crust of bread and collapse onto the floor of the small cell he shared with seventeen other slaves. There was never enough room for all of them, but it mattered little. Their exhaustion was always sufficient to permit sleep, regardless of whether or not they lay with their bodies overlapping haphazardly. 

Loki had always been an introverted figure, but a desperate need for sleep, he discovered, won out over the longing for solitude every time. 

Reaching the end of the hallway, he turned right and entered the corridor containing the Halls of Conference, as they were technically named. Loki had not been in one of those rooms since before he’d fallen from the Bifrost, and now he no longer had the privilege of entering. Slaves were not permitted to attend the meetings at which the most important matters were discussed. Less important affairs, certainly - someone had to pour the wine - but not the events that took place in this corridor. 

Loki glanced nervously over his shoulder, and, confirming that he was alone, set the bucket down and leaned back against the wall, his legs trembling with fatigue. He just needed a moment to rest. A moment to pretend that he wasn’t constantly being watched and evaluated and inspected. 

Times when there was no free person present to catch him shirking in his duties were rare, so he made use of alone time whenever it presented itself. 

As always, before long he heard footsteps and knew that his flash of seclusion was over. It sounded as though a meeting had ended, and if a flood of men stronger and better-fed than him was about to appear, he had no wish to drown in it. 

Quickly he picked up the pail of dirty water and made to dart off down the corridor, but just before he could scamper past the door out of which he knew the men would come, it flew open, revealing none other than Odin himself. 

For a split second, Loki nearly forgot his place, staring at the king with his eyes wide and mouth agape. But then the fear of punishment flooded through him and he threw himself to the ground, landing on his knees and flinging his torso forward so that he was prostrate before his betters. He remained there, palms outstretched on the tiles, moving naught except for the fierce tremble that overtook his entire body as a silence spread through the [emerging] group of men. 

_Did I hold my gaze too long?_ thought Loki frantically. _I barely hesitated, surely they cannot find fault with my behavior!_

He was numb with fear. Slaves were never allowed to look directly at any free person, much less a member of the royal family. He had offended much lower ranking nobles this way in the early days of his enslavement, and he had been beaten senseless for the error each time. If he offended the king, whose rank surpassed that of every other man in Asgard… 

No, he could not dwell on it. It terrified him too much. He thought surely they must be very angry; that had to explain why none of them moved or spoke despite the unceasing passage of time. 

He heard footsteps draw closer to him and his trembling, already uncontrollable, somehow increased as he tensed in anticipation of a blow. 

It didn’t come. Instead Loki heard a hushed but firm voice say, “Rise, slave, ” and he scrambled to his feet, folding his hands in front of him and keeping his head lowered, all the while willing his shaking knees to support his weight. 

“M-my king,” Loki stammered, in what he intended as a sign of respect. He had no idea what to expect from Odin if not a beating. His adoptive father had disowned him in a cold rage upon his return to Asgard, but he didn’t seem to bear any animosity towards him now.  
In fact, Loki, too, felt none of the anger he had once harbored against the Allfather. 

Now there was only fear - a slave’s sole emotion aside from maybe the occasion flash of relief or gratitude at being permitted an extra bite to eat or an additional hour of sleep. 

Loki did feel something now, though, a shame that manifested itself via a red tinge flushing onto his always-pale face. These men had once bowed to him, paid due deference to him, and now he stood before them a slave, infinitely lower in status than they had ever been. 

Though he rarely thought of it anymore, he became aware in this moment of his shortened hair, not even long enough to fall into his eyes or conceal the sweat on the back of his neck. Long hair was standard in Asgard, and to have one’s hair cut short was a sign of utter disgrace. All slaves wore their hair cropped as a permanent marker of their lowly status, so that others could easily differentiate them from respectable members of society. 

Loki’s cheeks flamed, wishing he could hide his dishonor from the men before him. He had once been a prince… 

“Slave, look at me,” Odin commanded. Startled, Loki slowly raised his head, wincing inwardly as he carried out what he instinctively regarded as a forbidden action, and met Odin’s waiting gaze. 

It had been months since he’d last looked directly at a free person, and to do so now filled him with apprehension. After all, the Enforcers and overseers had done such a thorough job of beating it out of him. 

But as much as he wished he could look away, wished he could do that which felt safe to him, he didn’t dare disobey the king’s order. 

As wrong as he felt in his current state, he could easily make things worse for himself. 

And that was to be avoided at all costs. 

He swallowed audibly and continued to tremble, but he held the Allfather’s gaze. 

Odin simply stood staring at him for a moment, one that seemed an eternity, then finally directed his eye away from Loki’s and stepped back. This nearly provoked a relieved sigh from the slave, but in the next instant Odin began to circle him, causing Loki’s breath to catch in his throat, which constricted in fear. 

He knew he could not turn his head to keep the Allfather within his sight - he would need permission to do such a thing - but it frightened him to know that such a powerful figure, one with more capability to hurt him than any other, could be planning to order him harmed, and he would have no way of anticipating this. He may no longer have the authority to use words to his advantage, but normally he could at least keep his eyes open and remain aware of his surroundings. Not so now. 

His breathing labored from the anxiety of uncertainty, Loki stared straight ahead, trying not to make eye contact with any of the warriors, but he was significantly distracted from this effort by his desire to regain a visual of his former father. His fingers twitched, wanting to ball into fists as a way to channel some of the nervous energy away from his tired brain, but he couldn’t risk the Allfather interpreting it as a hostile gesture. He was stuck, really, utterly terrified but completely unable to do anything to assuage his fears. 

To his relief, Odin re-entered his peripheral vision a moment later, his one eye inspecting Loki so intensely that he seemed to be looking right through him. The ruler of Asgard came to a stop when he was once again directly in front of the former prince, and Loki suddenly felt very awkward. He didn’t know whether the order to look at his king still stood. Shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, he settled for staring over Odin’s shoulder. 

“You’ve changed,” the Allfather remarked. 

Loki felt bewilderment rise in him - of course he was different - what did Odin expect?? But he only nodded and answered, “Yes, my king.”

Odin beheld him pointedly. “In the past, you would never have spoken to me with such respect.”

Loki winced. “No, my king. But now I am a slave. I must show full respect for my betters, lest I be punished, as a disobedient slave would deserve.” He said this carefully, endeavoring to keep emotion out of his voice. 

Looking at him almost curiously, Odin said, “That is true, slave.” 

He fell silent again for a torturously long time. Then he spoke. 

“Remove your clothing,” he ordered. 

Loki froze. _No no no I can’t no don’t make me._ He could feel was the panic spreading through him, and time seemed to slow. _No… not this!_

His eyes seemed to cloud over and he was no longer aware if he was still standing or whether he had collapsed. Memories, terrible memories, overcame him. 

He was losing his manhood all over again. 

*****

_Loki was barely conscious as he felt himself dragged, the tops of his feet scraping the floor, through yet another bleak dungeon hallway. It had been several days since he’d finally submitted to the will of guards, since he’d addressed the Enforcers as master and yielded to them completely. He’d not so much as put up an ounce of resistance in the hours following, and yet that night he’d received a whipping worse than any he’d so far received. The pain was unfathomable, and it was dragging him toward darkness._

_Hard as he tried, he could not quite seem to achieve full oblivion, as sweet of a mercy as that would be. His broken body simply would not grant him that relief. He felt a desperate hopelessness clawing his heart from his chest as he slumped between his guards, barely registering the stabbing sensation of his feet against the floor as they rubbed themselves nearly as raw as the mangled, bloody mess that was his back._

_He had no idea where they were taking him, but it did not matter. Wherever they took him, there would be pain. Let them take him where they willed. He no longer possessed the energy to care._

_They came to a great stone door, one that Loki had never seen before. Suddenly he did not want to know what was behind it. Even just the door looked menacing, as though Ragnarok itself waited for him beyond its massive frame. He mewled ever so slightly and tried to regain his footing in a futile attempt to tug himself free._

_But his guards only laughed. And then the door began to creak open._

_Loki wanted to raise his head and glimpse inside to see what awaited him, but a rising terror won him over, and he simply trembled, ceasing his resistance against the hold of his captors, who tossed him carelessly inside, as though he were a freshly-hunted deer deposited outside the palace kitchen - though a deer would probably have had fewer injuries._

_Loki allowed himself to lie upon the ground, his forehead resting against the cold stone in a way that almost felt comforting. But then he opened his eyes and all of that disappeared._

_The room was dark, lit only by four torches projecting from each corner, with a large rectangular stone table standing in the center. There were short shackles hanging from the table, and close at hand was a metal brazier filled with red-hot coals, the heat discernable even from the entryway where he lay. But perhaps the most disquieting aspect of this unsettling chamber was the tray of sharp objects also located adjacent to the table, two black-clad, hooded men hovering over them._

_Loki had no idea what they planned to do to him. Was this some new type of torture? Had he done something wrong without even realizing it? He’d tried to be so good!_

_He looked up at his escorts, then back at the silver instruments, and suddenly it came to him. He knew what was about to happen to him._

_A strangled scream made its way out of his throat, and he felt a terror stronger than any he’d yet experienced build within him, every ounce of his psyche coming together to form a desperate need to get out, to escape the Hel they intended for him._

_He made a valiant effort to drag himself away from the horrifying scene, but he was easily overpowered and soon found himself flung onto the table, his wrists and ankles restrained by the chains. He was completely helpless, and utterly terrified._

_He’d forgotten that all male slaves were castrated upon the completion of their training._

_Loki thrashed wildly, [evoking] desperate moans and sobs that, had he been in a more intelligible state, he would hardly believe had come from him. He tried to roll onto his side, clench his thighs, anything that would prevent these men from gaining access to his genitals._

_But the chains easily restrained him, and his weakened body could do nothing to fight off the strong hands that held him down, nor could his terrified tongue formulate any clever words with which to reason with his captors._

_Completely and unmercifully exposed, he saw the gleam of a knife, and he screamed, any remaining sanity leaving him. His eyes were wild, bursting with fear and panic, and he instinctively shrank away from the blade, futile an action as it was._

_But its wielder stayed clear of his privates and only cut off Loki’s meager clothing with a swift slash. For a fleeting moment, the former prince almost slumped back in relief that what he’d expected to happen had not in fact happened, but the next nanosecond, he saw it. Another blade. This one glowing red-hot. And he knew. This was the blade that truly threatened him. The one that would cut him, hurt him._

_The man who brandished the fiery edge did not look at him, did not show one speck of emotion at the act of mutilation he would shortly commit. And Loki knew with a horrid finality that there was no stopping this. All of the desperation and anguish and hopelessness welled up inside of him, and he stiffened, screaming the first words he’d spoken since his arrival in this grim chamber: “WHY?! WHY?! WHY?!”_

_The man with the blade finally focused his gaze on Loki, looking him straight in the eyes. He leaned over a bit, bringing his face closer to the disgraced god’s, then said, sedately and solemnly, “Because you are a slave. And you are nothing.”_

_Loki trembled, a single tear running down his cheek. Then the man looked away, directing his attention downward, and cut._

_He screamed himself raw._

_The pain lasted for weeks afterward._

 

*****

Gasping, Loki came back to reality, shocked to find himself still standing on his feet. He was swaying dangerously, and Odin beheld him with great curiosity, but he had not fallen, nor had his flashback apparently lasted a significant time, as he had not received punishment for his failure to obey the king’s order. 

He had, however, earned himself a warning, for a short, stocky soldier stepped forward and growled, “The Allfather gave you a command, you wretched…!”

Odin held up a hand. The warrior abruptly stopped mid-insult, taking a brisk step backward to rejoin his brethren. Then turning to Loki, Odin raised an eyebrow and remarked, “I did give you an order, slave.”  
Still unsteady on his feet, Loki acquiesced with difficulty, stumbling gracelessly as he scrambled to shed his garments. Then he was standing there, naked before the Allfather, the absence of balls forthrightly visible to the crowd of men before him, many of whom snickered in amusement or even pure joy at the sight. Utterly humiliated, Loki did as he knew he would be asked, and lifted his cock to expose the long white scar that reminded him daily of his inferiority. 

The castration of slaves was not so much for the free people as it was for the slaves themselves. It was a brutally simple way of reminding them that they were not men. That they were not human. 

Women, too, were maimed, but from them a breast was taken to deprive them of the symmetry that so heavily contributed to standards of female beauty. 

No one would ever consider a slave beautiful. 

Cropped hair, disfigured bodies, decrepit tunics and filthy leggings. No decent Asgardian would ever appear this way. Slaves were meant to stand out. 

And now Loki stood out in front of the man who had formerly raised him as a son, disgraced and broken.

Odin nodded in approval. “I gave instruction that you should be treated the same as any other slave, yet in my mind I questioned whether the Enforcers would willingly emasculate a slave of former royalty. But clearly I can see that no inhibitions have hindered them. You have been well-handled.” He gestured to one of the men behind him. “Tell the Enforcers their work is commendable.” 

Loki couldn’t help but moan a little in despair at this, at the praising of those who had tortured him. Odin threw him a sharp look, but ignored the outburst and only said, “Walk with me, slave.” 

Loki looked at him in surprise. A slave in private conversation with a king? Surely it was unheard of? But of course he could not disobey, so he nodded, allowing Odin to lead the way down the hall. It seemed appropriate that the Allfather would make the first remark, so Loki said nothing, waiting for Odin to state his purpose. 

They stopped in front of an open window, still within the view of the others but no longer within their earshot. Placing his hands on either side of the windowsill, Odin looked out, surveying the land below for what seemed like quite a while. Loki stood nervously in the meantime, fiddling with his thumbs, one of which bore several wiry scars from an incident where a free child had used him to test a new pocketknife.

Then Odin turned his head, and spoke quietly, almost softly. “How are you faring?” 

Loki eyes widened and his brow furrowed in confusion. This was not at all what he’d expected. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, trying to determine how he should respond. Suppressing the details he knew Odin would not want to hear, Loki carefully articulated, “I fare as well as can be expected given the circumstances under which I live.” 

Odin sighed. “Yes, I suppose you do.” Another awkward silence passed as the Allfather contemplated his former son, his expression unreadable. Then he spoke again. “You know you deserve this, don’t you?”

What could he say? “Yes, my king,” Loki nodded, casting his eyes toward the floor. He could not force himself to look in Odin’s eye as he admitted this. 

“And you know you must live out your days in this state as proper penance for your crimes?” 

“Yes, my king.” Loki nodded again. 

Odin placed a hand under Loki’s chin, lifting the slave’s head to meet his gaze once more. His single eye seemed to penetrate Loki’s soul, stripping away the privacy of his mind and uncovering the mysteries within. “You have learned humility, at least. That much is certain.” 

It was not a question, so Loki did not reply. He only continued to look obediently upon the Allfather’s face (despite how wrong it still felt to do so!) until Odin waved him away. “You should return to your duties.” 

Eager to be through with this most strange encounter, Loki hastily bent into a deep bow and made to scurry away, hoping that this meeting would not cause him to arrive tardy to the kitchens. 

Trying to process what had just happened, he stopped suddenly when he heard a voice behind him call, “Loki.” 

Shocked, Loki turned around to see that the words had indeed come from Odin, and his jaw fell open. He had not heard his name spoken in months, and now to hear it from this source… he could do nothing but stare. 

But Odin did not keep him waiting long. “You’re managing well.” 

Numbness. 

That was all Loki could feel. How could he react? How can one react when the altogether unimaginable happens?

Somehow, he felt himself nod, and then he spun around to resume his walk back toward the armor-clad men waiting outside the meeting room. 

Ignoring the warriors’ sneers and remaining acutely aware of the Allfather’s persistent gaze lingering from across the corridor, Loki retrieved his supplies, took a deep breath, and continued down the hallway.

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note: Odin might seem a little OOC - people normally portray him as a dick, and I don't really bring him to that level here. My logic is that while Odin was furious at Loki when he handed down his sentence, seeing him now in this wretched state surprises him to the point where he remembers that this used to be his son. Which explains why he asks how Loki is doing, etc. You'll notice he's not totally sympathetic - he forces Loki to get naked and display his scar, after all. I'm happy to hear your thoughts on his portrayal, but this was just how I personally envisioned him when conceptualizing this story.


End file.
